International Solidarity Movement - Page 231 - Nonviolence. Justice. Freedom.

Surviving in Gaza’s caravan houses

27th May | Miguel Hernández | Gaza, Occupied Palestine

The family El Najjar was expelled during the Nakba from the Palestinian village of Salamah. This village was the subject of a total ethnic cleansing by the Zionist colonizers.

Nowadays just ten houses remain from the almost 2000 that formed the village. In its place today we can find the Tel Aviv suburb known as Kfar Shalem.

Refugees since 1948, many of them established themselves in Khuza’a, a peasant village in the southern part of the Gaza Strip. For the last eight months a great part of the family has been living in caravans, as more than 45 homes belonging to the El Najjar family were bombed during the 2014 massacre.

In one of those, ISM members met Ashraf El Najjar, member of the family who also lost his home during the umpteenth Zionist massacre.
Ashraf is 41 years old and has seen how the Zionist entity bombed his home two times already. The first one was in 2009, during the massacre known as “Operation Cast Lead”, in which Israel also murdered one of his brothers. After that it took him several years to rebuild his home. However, once rebuilt, he could enjoy it just for 18 months, as in 2014 the Israeli occupation once again reduced it to a pile of rubble. This time they also murdered his father, two brothers, two sisters and his cousin.

With a smile on his face, despite his terrible circumstances, he shows ISM the caravans were most of his relatives survive nowadays. “We don’t have any hope regarding the reconstruction. No one has been here to check about our situation or needs”.

The first caravan he shows ISM is the one of Youssef El Najjar, who is now in the Hospital accompanied by his wife.
In the caravan we find Youssef’s daughter Azhar, 18 years old, taking care of the rest of the family. She is responsible of her grandmother, who lies disabled in the only bed in the caravan, and her younger siblings. The youngest, four years old, can only move around by crawling on the ground, as a birth defect prevents him from walking.
Azhar explains ISM how the life is in the caravans, “In winter we suffered a lot from the cold and the caravan flooded every time it rained. One time the water reached more than one meter’s height. Another time when the water rose the floods dragged all the sewage into the caravan. Now, in summer, the heat is unbearable, as an oven. I feel like I’m living in a grave”.

The next caravan we visited is the one of Asisa El Najjar, 65 years old. She lives there along with eight more people, five of whom are children. Her husband is in the hospital as well, therefore, he cannot work.
Three of the five children belong to Wasfi El Najjar, son of Asisa who was killed by the Zionist army during the last massacre, being just 26 years old. The older one is four years old and the youngest, who is only five months old, never met his father.
Asisa tells ISM how she and her husband suffer from asthma since they live in the caravan. She also shows us how the sewage of the bathroom goes to the only room of the caravan.

A few meters from there we find Mohamed and Suher El Najjar with their five children. Mohamed is unemployed, and the five children suffer from respiratory problems since they live in the caravan.

Hasma El Najjar, 75 years old, lives alone in a caravan that like all the other has the wooden floor completely rotten by the last winter rains. Which has caused her to fall several times already.

Finally ISM visits the caravan of Khadia EL Najjar, 53 years old, who lives with her husband and her grown children. One of the daughters has cancer and due to the criminal blockade imposed by Israel and Egypt she can’t receive the treatment needed.

Ironically, these caravans have been provided by the UK government. The same country that colonized Palestine for 26 years and later on handed it over to the Zionists, opening the doors to 67 years of land theft, occupation and genocide.

Text and photos: Miguel Hernández

Another violent attack on Palestinian family

23rd May 2015 | International Solidarity Movement, Al Khalil Team | Al Khalil, Occupied Palestine

On the 23rd May, settlers in Al Khalil (Hebron) blocked the entrance to Hashem Younes Azzeh’s house and attacked his family. Large rocks were thrown at them and his daughter was hit in the hand.

Hashem lives with his wife and four children in Tel Rumeida, part of the H2 area of Al Khalil. H2 is under Israeli military control and many settlers have constructed illegal homes within this part of the city. For the Palestinians, it has become an extremely tense place to live due to daily harassment from the settlers and the Israeli army alike.

Early in the morning, the settlers had parked their car right in front of the entrance to Hashem’s house, making it a tight squeeze for anyone to get by. Later on, as Hashem was walking an international group of Quakers back to the checkpoint, six settler boys, aged between 10 and 12, started throwing large amounts of stones at them. The internationals quickly escaped and when Hashem got home, he found five Israeli soldiers there. They were checking the IDs of his daughter, Raghad, and his wife, Nisreen. Raghad attempted to show the soldiers a video of the attack, but because she had filmed while trying to avoid big stones thrown at her, the footage was blurry. The soldiers called her a liar and were about to arrest her, blaming her for the stone throwing.

Hashem squeezes by the car blocking his entrance.

All of a sudden, under the eyes of the soldiers, the settlers started throwing stones at them again and injured Raghad’s hand. Unable to support their lie anymore, the soldiers said that they would go and check on the settlers and come back – hours later, they still have not returned.

The Azzeh family has been subjected to regular attacks since 1984, when the settlers arrived in Al Khalil. Their neighbor is the leader of the Jewish National Front, Baruch Marzel. This man has a sticker on his wall that says “God gave us the right to kill Arabs and we love it”.

Hashem’s house has been invaded and turned upside down by settlers and soldiers several times, with furniture and equipment smashed. He has been shot at inside his house, narrowly missing him and his family. Hashem has been threatened, intimidated and beaten up by settlers, of which the scars on his face bear witness. His wife has suffered two miscarriages due to being beaten by settlers. His children are also regularly attacked, beaten up and have stones thrown at them. The fruit trees in his garden have been poisoned, and he has been prevented from harvesting his olives due to settler attacks. The walls of his house are still graffitied with death threats such as “gas the Arabs”. They have also had to live without water for three years because the settlers had cut their water pipes. The soldiers even came once to arrest their five year old son accusing him of throwing stones. Hashem asked if they were sure about their accusations – “No, but the settlers told us so”.

Settler house overlooking, the Azzeh's family home. — Settler house overlooking, the Azzeh’s family home.

These are just examples from an endless series of attacks, where the Israeli army and the settlers [living in illegal settlements under international law], work hand in hand to continue this silent form of ethnic cleansing of the Palestinian people. Hashem has tried to go to court many times to seek justice for his family, but he hasn’t even been able to come close to anything resembling this term.

A member of ISM (International Solidarity Movement) asked if Hashem was going to file a complaint for today’s attack. Hashem smiled and muttered, “What’s the point?”

“…but still with a few hope in our hearts”

20th May 2015 | Inas Jam | Khuzaa, Gaza.

Editor’s note: This is the testimony of a 23 year old woman who survived the land invasion of Khuzaa, Gaza, in the summer of 2014. This is the original version of her writings and no edits have been made.

We were in Khuzaa in our grandfather’s house when the war started. We thought Khuzaa was the safest area. But the 23rd July Khuzaa was a surrounded by tanks, drones and we started hearing many bombs.

We went to the basement to hide from the shooting but my grandfather stayed in the first floor with the other men…
Four days passed by very slowly and with a lot of difficulty, in the last day someone came to tell us that we had to leave Khuzaa.

We accepted and hurried up to the street, we were frightened, the planes were upon us, we were surprised because we thought there was nobody left in Khuzaa, but we saw many people crying, shouting, men injured by gunshot, they were walking covered in blood.
All was very sad.
While we were walking we saw the smoke from the bombs. Everyone was crying, men, women, old people and children.
The trepidation got into our hearts.
Some bombs felled in front of our eyes.
The streets were full of people running.
At some point we had to return back because we found in the street a big hole made by a rocket that prevented us to continue.

When we returned back we found many families in the ground floor.
At night Apache helicopters started hitting the homes with the families inside.
We heard the footsteps of the occupation soldiers; the children were very quiet, they were afraid that the soldiers would hear them.
We heard many people getting killed in their homes.

In the morning somebody came and told us we must leave Khuzaa because Israel was killing everyone, they were shooting at everything, moving or not…
We forced ourselves to go out, but my grandfather refused to leave “I want to die in my home, not in the street like the people from Shijaia”.

We went out thinking that we would be killed by the zionist occupiers, but still with a few hope in our hearts.
I left with my mother, my sister and some other people; we saw rubble, glass and corpses in the street.

I saw a child in the street with his stomach and bowels out. I started shouting what was that, where was the world, where were the Arab countries… and kept crying while going on.

We couldn’t do anything because we were afraid we would get killed by an helicopter or by any kind of weapon, we didn’t know where were the zionist soldiers.

We kept running and running. When we arrived to the entrance of the village we saw many tanks and many soldiers, I was crying so much, and the soldiers started laughing at me.
I’m so sorry I couldn’t stop crying!

When we arrived to Khan Younis we received the bad news, my grandfather had been killed by the occupation. My uncle, who also stayed in Khuzaa, explained me what happened: “grandfather went out from the basement to tell the soldiers that there were just men, women and children in those homes, who had no weapons to defend themselves. But the soldiers killed him putting two bullets in his heart. Everybody was crying then, we were frightened. After that they took us out and took the men to the homes that they were using as base and put them in front of the windows, as human shields. Later they started hitting the men with sticks. Then ordered Alaa Qudaih (the nephew of my grandfather)to take off the clothes of my grandfather. Alaa couldn’t stop crying while doing it. After he covered him with a red blanket. Finally the occupation ordered us to leave Khuzaa and go to Khan Younes.

After three days the occupation allowed us to finally take the corpses to the Hospital.
There were many corpses in the streets, in their homes and under the rubble.

By Inas Jam.

Jerusalem Day: Palestinians met with extreme violence

On Sunday 17th May 2015, I witnessed some of the most violent and painfully blatant acts of Apartheid since my time in Palestine. I went to Al Quds for the annual ´Jerusalem Day´, to document the racist chants, commonly known to occur. ‘Jerusalem Day’, or ‘Yom Yerushalayim’ is a zionist celebration of the 6 day war in ’67, when Israel claims to have reuinited Jerusalem. Having ethnically cleansed West Jerusalem in 1948, Israel has occupied East Jerusalem since ’67, which had previously been under Jordanian control. The day consists of thousands of hard line Israelis, many of them young men, marching with flags through the muslim quarter of the old city, chanting racist and abusive slogans such as ‘Death to the Arabs’, and forcing shops to close their doors for the day.

Naively, I expected a relatively uneventful day, videoing marchers as they passed through the street. In reality, the day consisted of an abusive demonstration of the Zionist apartheid state and the ethnic cleansing upon which it is founded.

We arrived at Damascus gate just after 2pm to a crowd of young Israelis waving Israeli flags and, closely watched by soldiers, a small group of Palestinians and internationals waving Palestinian flags. All seemed tense. Throughout the city were swarms of zionists, dancing, chanting and celebrating their deemed ‘ownership’ of this city. Their loud chants through the Old City and choice to gather at Damascus Gate (The entrance to the muslim quarter), was a nod towards the provocative nature that this day would inevitably take.

Over the course of an hour, I witnessed a number of arrests. Although all separate to each other, they all had a common thread; they were all arrests of Palestinian men, and all included acts of violence shocking even within the context of the abusive occupation. I saw the first of these arrests only once the man’s head was locked in the arms of two soldiers. I burrowed under the arms of the soldiers and pulled the man away, a group of us successfully dearresting him. As he ran, the soldiers grabbed him again, holding his arms behind his back and squeezing at his chest. The man collapsed. His body fell to the ground between the soldiers, and as people rushed forward to perform CPR, the soldiers pushed them back, not allowing them to reach him. Eventually the man was carried away to hospital. We heard no news as to how he was later in the day.

Pushed against some close by metal railings, another man was grabbed by around 6 soldiers and thrown to the ground, before being stamped on and kicked as he lay there handcuffed. Just below the same railings, an Israeli soldier throttled another Palestinian man. Whilst his two hands were round the mans neck, other soldiers swarmed in and pushed him to the ground, hitting him in the face. He too was taken off by paramedics. An older man who looked in his sixties, whose arrest I didn’t see, was carried by his four limbs through the crowd by police.

These arrests were all at the entrance to Damascus Gate, watched over by a group of Zionists who were left to stay in the area. The agenda of the police and military at the scene, was to clear the area and road leading to it of any Palestinians. All Palestinians were moved to a side street, by police on horses charging through the crowds. Palestinians were pushed shoved and pulled away from the gate, many of whom had shopping bags and were with their children.

One elderly man passing through was thrown forwards onto his face by two soldiers. I next saw him as his bloody mouth was tended to by paramedics. Another was grabbed by a number of soldiers, and thrown with such force onto his back, he traveled a meter or so passed me before landing. A Palestinian man who attempted to stop a young zionist from pulling a scarf from a Palestinian woman, was pushed down the steps by two soldiers, as the zionist boy and his friends watched on. The woman, reclaimed her scarf and sat on the spot holding a Palestinian scarf in one hand, gesturing the peace sign with the other.

At around 7pm, what looked like tens of thousands of Zionists marched to Damascus Gate and on through the muslim quarter of the Old City. Largely consisting of young men, they chanted in Hebrew, directed at any Palestinian watching from the side. An older man next to me held a Palestinian flag, as the Zionists threw broken sticks from their flags at him. Later, standing among a small group of press at the side of the square, I found myself on the receiving end of sticks, as the crowd took any opportunity to attack onlookers. Press were hit with sticks, and dragged by police away from the gate. One police officer rugby tackled me from behind, as sticks were thrown from overhead. The crowd hurled abuse, as the soldiers watched on, many laughing along to the chants. As a Palestinian man nearby shouted back to the crowd, he was abruptly arrested and pulled away by soldiers.

The scenes witnessed at Damascus Gate on Sunday were not however the full extent of the day. A family we later visited whose house has just been demolished in East Jerusalem, had their area surrounded by Israeli flags, with people chanting ‘Death to the Arabs’ outside their window. Their 8 children, who were too afraid to leave the house, are daily witnesses to hatred inflicted towards themselves and their families.

Jerusalem Day to me was Zionism personified; the racist apartheid state that Israel is unashamed of. There were violent attacks on Palestinians by soldiers, police, and Zionist marchers alike. The soldiers and police supported Zionist youth as they hurled verbal abuse at passers by. Palestinian shops were forced to close as Zionists banged on their front shutters. Palestinians were made to move from the Muslim quarter to watch from afar as Zionists chanted hatred towards them – inciting ethnic cleansing and death to the Arabs.

This day was not one of watching on the sidelines as a group marched through the street – this day was a new awakening for me as to the systematic violence the Israeli state relies on. The city was turned into a playground for the new generation of right wing Zionists, as they were taught the abuse that’s accepted against all those not waving the same flag.

Recollection and memory, Al-Nakba continues

15th May 2015 | Karam (Muhannad) | Ofer military prison, Occupied Palestine

The following post is written by the medic that was present on the scene on May 15th 2014, during the killing of Mohammad Odeh and Nadeem Nuwwarah as protesters commemorated al-Nakba near Ofer Military Prison.

During Nakba day commemoration, Birzeit’s student council were trying to gather students to go to Ofer, but it seemed that no one was interested. I decided to go by myself, so I gathered some friends and went to Ramallah and then to Ofer.

En route to Ofer, I received a call saying “a kid got shot with live [ammunition]..it’s bad.” I then asked the driver to hurry. We arrived to Ofer and there were many people. Three Israeli soldiers were standing up the hill 120 meters away with the rest of them standing 500 meters away in the field across. There was teargas and rubber bullets, which was normal. Nothing I’m not used to.

Two kids were going back and forth throwing stones at the three soldiers, even though they kept missing the soldiers they continued to try because they are kids. I went down to open my bag and I looked back to see if it’s safe and I could see the two kids coming back.

I can still remember the two kids, and two flags. One green and the other black, one was for Hamas and the other was the Nakba flag.

Medic pressing against Mohammad Odeh’s chest after he was shot with live ammunition. May 15th, 2014 - photo by AP — Medic pressing against Mohammad Odeh’s chest after he was shot with live ammunition. May 15th, 2014 – *photo by AP*

I searched inside my bag to find something that to this day I can’t remember what it was I was looking for. Suddenly I heard a shot. One shot and it was live ammunition. I jumped to the left and went down even though I know it was live and live travels faster than the sound it projects. But it was the natural accustomed reaction. Two seconds is all the time it takes for the sound to disappear. I look to my left and he was falling. Mohammad was falling to the ground. I ran to him as he was two meters away.

I was able to reach him before he hit the ground. I looked at him, checking his body. I saw a hole in his chest and I put my hand on it to apply pressure and stop the bleeding, basic first aid training.

He held my hand and looked at me trying to say something but he didn’t have the time. I screamed for an ambulance and asked for help. Two people came to help me carry him. The ambulance was 10 meters away, the man next to me was saying “Mohammad stay with us.” That’s how I knew his name.

We put him in the ambulance and returned to where we were.

I began to tell myself he is alive and he was shot in the lung and fainted, that’s why there was no blood only a hole. Only one spot of blood was on my hand. I tried to convince myself that he is alive. He is alive.

I knew though. I knew something was wrong. I became a ghost walking in Ofer back and forth towards the soldiers. News started to arrive about two martyrs. Nadeem and Mohammad. I started asking about Mohammad Abu Al Dhaher and the other Mohammad who was shot before I arrived. I started calling my friends at the hospital asking them to confirm the name.

Mohammad Odeh being carried to a nearby ambulance. Ofer military prison, May 15th, 2014 - photo by AP — Mohammad Odeh being carried to a nearby ambulance. Ofer military prison, May 15th, 2014 – *photo by AP*

Twenty minutes later, my friend who worked at the hospital called and said “it was Mohamad Abu al Dhaher. The last one you put in the ambulance.”

I stayed in Ofer. I didn’t know what to do, I wrote their names on the wall and stayed there, but I wasn’t really there. I was a ghost.

Two hours later I went to the hospital, I’m not even sure if it was two hours later. I had lost track of time at that pont. I couldn’t feel it anymore. It’s as though the whole world had stopped at that moment. I arrived to the hospital and entered inside. There were tons of people gathering. Friends, journalists..but I couldn’t look at any of them.

Afterwards, a group of protesters had marched to the hospital coming from Ramallah after they closed down the shops in honor of the martyrs. I stood in the middle of the street as they all passed by me. I didn’t know where to go, or what to do. Journalists that were asking for interviews were saying “we heard you were the last one next to the martyr.” I went away. I couldn’t say anything. I tried to find a place where I can’t see anyone, so I went behind a car and stopped for a few minutes trying to understand but I couldn’t. Everything began to flash but I couldn’t remember. I began to breathe fast and wasn’t able to move my face. People gathered around me in attempt to take me inside the hospital but I resisted and began to call out the name of a friend that can take me out. Someone knew her and after a while she arrived and tried to take me inside the hospital. I asked her to take me out of there and she did.

That’s when my trip began.

I still remember his masked face, I never remembered his face because I only saw his face on posters, a week later.

3 minutes. 3 minutes is the time we had. They always told us that our job as medics is to keep the patient alive until the ambulance arrives. But this time, even 3 minutes weren’t enough.

It has been a year now but it still feels like yesterday. Everyone has forgotten and it’s only his family that is living in torment. Today I realize that he is gone and nothing that we could have done would have stopped it. Nothing.

The only thing that we should do is keep fighting for them and for ourselves, until we find justice. Until every soldier is held accountable for their crimes.

The dead are gone…and the living are hungry.

By Karam (Muhannad)